Desolate Mantle Page 31

  Gabe got to his feet and followed Shaun out of the room. Gathering up their files, Cora and Tyke came after them. Gabe dropped his things onto his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He felt like his life had flown completely out of whack in a matter of days. As he gathered up his coat from the back of his chair, he glanced at his colleagues. Tyke gave him a sympathetic smile. Cora came around and laid a hand on his arm.

  “Gabe, have you thought to call your parents yet?”

  Gabe glanced at her but didn’t answer. He had thought to call them. He rejected the notion immediately. He wasn’t ready yet. They would never be ready.

  “Gabe,” Cora said gently. “They have a right to know. If you weren’t here, and this information had come to us in some other way, we’d be calling them right n—”

  “I don’t want to call them yet,” Gabe said firmly. “I will Cora. But not yet. Please, let’s let this play out for a few more days. I want to be able to tell them something concrete. Something I can sum up in a few sentences, rather than just, ‘we don’t know what the hell is going on. I’ll get back to you in a week.’”

  Cora gave him a sad smile. “Of course. You okay to drive home? I can take you if you want.”

  “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.”

  “You sure? The last thing we need is for you to fall asleep behind the wheel.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he snapped, and regretted it when she jumped. “Sorry, Cora. I’m just…just…” Exhausted didn’t begin to do it justice.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself to us, Gabe,” she included Tyke in her glance. “And if there’s anything we can do…”

  He nodded. “Thanks, but I need both of you here, keeping an eye on this. Heaven knows I’m not objective, and I just…need you guys on this.”

  “We aren’t going anywhere,” she gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Go get some sleep, Gabe,” Tyke said. “You’ll feel better afterward.”

  Gabe doubted it, but didn’t say so. Feeling like each of his feet weighed upwards of a hundred pounds—nearly as much as his heart—he trudged toward the door.

  He was vaguely aware of Shaun’s phone going off as he reached the doorway, but it was Tyke’s voice that reached his ears.

  “Oh, shit.”

  Gabe turned around. “What?”

  Both Shaun and Tyke wore expressions of chagrin. Cora, standing closer to Gabe, looked confused.

  “What?” Gabe repeated, moving to walk back toward Shaun.

  Shaun held up a hand. “It’s not Dillon’s case. There’s been another murder in the Mire.”

  A flutter of pain awakened in Gabe’s chest, and he didn’t even know what it was for. “Another working girl?”

  Shaun rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Yes.”

  Chapter 23

  Where the night before, wind had gusted strongly through the Carmichael district, now everything was eerily still. Kyra peered out from her hiding place beneath the shadow of the building and shivered. The building at her back was made of brick. Most of the windows were broken, and inside she could see nothing but dust and debris. Only a skeleton of architecture. It hunched in its place in the row, yet it still leaned over her forebodingly. She would have to remain beneath it until the two guards from last night appeared.

  She hadn’t made it back to the Carmichael district the night before as she’d hoped. After washing off her Supra makeup, she’d found her credit cards, and taken her van to a somewhat more reputable part of Abstreuse City. Even in the middle of the night, there were plenty of places open. A twenty-four-hour supermarket seemed promising, and she’d wandered around until finally being forced to go to the toy section. There, on an isle displaying dress-up outfits and plastic jewelry for young girls, Kyra picked out a strawberry blond wig that was bobbed at the chin. She also picked out clothes distinctly different from Supra’s. Though she still stuck with dark colors—standing out in the Slip Mire wasn’t a good idea no matter what the reason—she’d chosen form-fitting black knit pants and a ribbed black tank top. Over it, she now wore a thin, snug, nylon jacket. It had a hood she could pull up to hide her face and go largely unseen until she wanted to be.

  Once she’d made her purchases, it still wasn’t a matter of simply donning the clothes and heading out. She sat under the running shower and after the bandage loosened, she gently unwrapped it, sucking in her breath when hot water hit the wound. After wrapping it in fresh gauze, she’d spent most of the rest of the night grinding dirt into the wig, then washing it out with caustic soap, trying to get rid of the shimmery sheen that made it look fresh and new and completely unlike the hair of someone who lived the lifestyle of a Mireling. When it looked sufficiently dull she broke out her curling iron and gave it some waves. She just wanted it to have some noticeable body—as far from Supra’s short, spiky hair as possible—but she quickly learned the curling iron, even at the lowest setting, would melt the wig. Instead she twisted it into knots and used her fingers to rat it. Then she’d experimented with makeup, trying out different skin tones, scars, and blemishes. Eventually she’d gone with skin much darker than her own, rosy cheeks, and lipstick so tan as to almost disguise her lips against her flesh, and brown contacts.

  By the time all that was done, daylight streamed through the windows and she crashed on top of the coverlet of the hotel bed. When she’d awakened eight hours later, she’d immediately donned the new costume and nearly climbed the walls before full darkness finally fell.

  She’d made her way through the Slip Mire without incident, keeping to the shadows and staying away from busy thoroughfares. No one noticed her at all, which was exactly what she’d wanted. In the Carmichael district, she’d found this hiding place, which afforded a perfect view of both the warehouse and the street she’d seen the two men approach from the night before, herding the Mirelings.

  Her plan wasn’t complicated, which probably meant it wasn’t particularly good. When the two men appeared, leading tonight’s group of strung-out junkies, she hoped to simply attach herself to the end. She dared hope they wouldn’t notice, or if they did, didn’t care. They wanted Mirelings to lead into the warehouse, right? Of course, they might notice and chase her away, which would mean she’d have to find some other way to become part of the group they gathered. That would take observation and research; time she didn’t have. No, she had to find a way into the warehouse tonight. Once she began working for Josie, she didn’t know when she’d have another shot.

  Sounds from up the street caught her attention, and she froze, listening. It sounded like feet shuffling. She’d fully expected to wait hours for the men to appear. Two minutes later, they came into view, escorting a group of roughly a dozen Mirelings. Each time she’d seen them before, it had been two or three o’clock in the morning. It wasn’t nearly that time yet. Probably not later than ten or eleven. Did that mean they changed up the times, or that they brought multiple groups each night? Questions for another time.

  One of the two guards led the group while the second brought up the rear. Kyra chewed her lip. She’d hoped both would be at the head. If she simply stepped out and joined the group, the one in the rear might see her. The guard in the lead crossed the street, and Kyra shrunk farther into the shadows. They were going to walk directly by where she squatted, passing only feet from her. The shadow of the overhang hiding her reached to almost exactly where they would walk. She could approach them largely unseen.

  As the leader passed her hiding spot and the rest of the group sidled past, most looking like they had no idea where they were or what was going on, Kyra made a decision. The guard in the back appeared bored. He kept glancing up at the rooftops of the vacant buildings around them, as if hoping to find something more exciting up there than what he did in the street below. Heart pounding, Kyra waited until his gaze shifted up and to the left. Then she scurried forward, never leaving the shadow of the building, slid her foot out, and tripped one of the Mirelings. She scurried back into the shadows
before the oof of him hitting the ground reached her ears.

  “Hey, what’s going on up there?” The nasally voice belonged to the guard bringing up the rear. The man Kyra had tripped was tall and lanky with a high forehead and eyes she could tell were bloodshot even in the near-darkness. He’d fallen heavily on the pavement and the Mirelings behind him simply halted. Some of them turned their heads in Kyra’s direction, sending unpleasant chills down her spine, but none of their eyes focused on her. Their gazes were robotic, and held no curiosity.

  The guard from behind made his way to the fallen man while the guard leading halted the group and peered back. Annoyance tinged the rear guard’s voice as he wrestled the fallen Mireling back onto his feet. “Don’t be falling over now. We’re nearly there.” To her relief, he didn’t glance in Kyra’s direction, or notice the gazes of any of the Mirelings who did.

  “You said you’d give me a fix, Man.” The tall Mireling managed to sound whiny, despite having a deep voice.

  “And I will,” the guard said impatiently. “When we get there. Look. It’s right up there.” The entire line of Mirelings looked, but Kyra doubted any saw. The guard gave the lanky man a small push and the man immediately staggered. The guard caught him just before he fell again. With a long-suffering sigh, the guard raised his voice toward his comrade at the front of the group. “Keep going, Jenkins. I’ll have to walk this guy the rest of the way in.”

  Kyra’s breath caught. Jenkins. Shit. Josie’s man. Her disguise was good—she knew it was—but meeting someone who might recognize Surpra still wasn’t smart. Perhaps she should abandon this entire idea.

  The line moved forward again. Kyra hesitated, undecided. This might be her only way into the warehouse, and she would start working for Josie soon. She’d be too busy looking for Manny…. Manny. Could Manny be inside? She steeled her resolve. Her disguise would be enough. Jenkins wouldn’t recognize her. She could do this. For Manny.

  When the last Mireling—a particularly large, thick-armed man—passed her, she stepped out and joined the end of the line, her heart bruising the inside of her rib cage.

  The walk to the door of the warehouse was agonizingly slow and silent, but for the soft, tentative trod of their feet against the pavement. Kyra watched as the front guard opened the door of the warehouse with a heavy key and ushered the Mirelings inside. After observing from outside for so long, it felt surreal to actually be entering. Kyra prayed they ushered her through with the rest.

  They nearly did.

  The tall man in front of her went through, and Kyra made as if to follow him. As she put her foot over the threshold, a strong hand gripped her shoulder and yanked her back. She only just kept from crying out. The guard who’d originally been at the rear of the group slammed her into the warehouse door, peering down into her face. “Where’d you come from?” he breathed down at her. His breath was beyond horrid. She kept her eyes down. When she didn’t answer, the man hollered over his shoulder. “Hey, Jenkins! Come here.” Kyra’s breathing deepened and her hands shook. If Jenkins recognized her, she really would be the next body in one of Gabe’s crime scenes. Fear clawed at her joints.

  Jenkins appeared at the first man’s shoulder a moment later.

  “Do you recognize her?” Bad Breath asked.

  Jenkins peered down into her face. His eyebrows drew together. “No.” He reached over his friend’s shoulder to cup her chin in one hand and force her face up.

  She shifted her eyes around, refusing to meet his gaze. Her ragged breathing didn’t have to be faked.

  “Who are you, woman? Where did you come from?”

  Kyra made her voice soft, breathy. “I…f-followed you. H-heard you say anyone that d-did would get a f-fix.”

  Jenkins barked a laugh and dropped her chin. “Of course you want a fix.” He slugged his friend in the back. “I told you. You were being too loud, Dorner. We’re supposed to keep this quiet, and now other junkies are hearing and trailing behind.”

  “It wasn’t me!” Dorner let go of her so suddenly, she fell against him. “I’ve done everything exactly as we’re supposed to. It must have been you.”

  Kyra allowed herself a breath of relief as they kept arguing, their voices getting louder by the minute. She thought they might actually come to blows. Kyra registered a strange noise. It came from within the warehouse. It sounded like a jeering crowd. Something similar to the low roar one would expect to hear at a sporting event. What was going on in there?

  Kyra’s attention snapped back to her captors when, with a final growl, Dorner whipped around and grabbed a handful of the hair at the nape of Kyra’s neck.

  She winced, not only from the pain but because she could feel the wig lifting away from her scalp ever so slightly. As with her Supra disguise, she didn’t like anyone touching her hair. She always secured the wig as well as humanly possible, but it didn’t completely eliminate the risk of it coming off.

  “What do you want me to do with her?” Dorner growled.

  “Let her in,” Jenkins snarled back, and Dorner’s eyebrows went up.

  “Let her in?”

  “Yeah. The more subjects the better, right? And she wants a ‘fix.’” Jenkins ran his eyes down her body and back up again. The smile he gave her made her real hair try to stand on end. “Let’s give her one.”

  Dorner shrugged and pushed Kyra roughly through the door.

  She found herself in the same faux-entryway she’d seen before. Dorner, still gripping her upper arm tight enough to cause pain, forced her quickly past the unfinished sheet rock and through a door-less entryway. The air inside felt thick and had a sharp metallic tang to it, heavy enough to make her feel claustrophobic. She remembered putting her hands against the outside of the warehouse the first night she’d discovered it and feeling as though it emanated evil. She hadn’t thought about it again. That feeling intensified now. Her heart thrashed and reared. Her chest felt tight. Fear clenched her stomach and, though she couldn’t have said exactly why, her hands refused to stop shaking.

  As she came into the main part of the warehouse, Kyra realized she’d had expectations of what she’d find, even if she’d never fully formed the thoughts. She’d thought there would be one huge room, with dozens of people sitting by themselves or in groups, shooting up or perhaps exchanging services for drugs. What she found was profoundly more organized than that. And more chilling.

  The room wasn’t divided by walls, but chain link enclosures stood in lines from one end of the massive space to the other, naturally creating wide lanes between them. The chain link made up the walls of the enclosures, as well as the tops of them, like lines of massive dog kennels. Kyra might have thought she’d stumbled onto some kind of illegal dog-fighting ring, except it wasn’t dogs being held in the cages.

  It was human beings.

  Each human kennel held somewhere between five and twenty people, all looking out with gaunt, resigned eyes. Most didn’t bother to grip the chain link or take any interest in the newest prisoners being brought in. They cowered in the corners, averting their eyes when Kyra looked at them. Many sat with knees pulled into their chests, rocking back and forth, or simply hid their heads in their arms. Kyra registered vague sorrow for their wretchedness, but they couldn’t hold her attention for long.

  The clamor made sure of that. Though she hadn’t been able to hear anything from outside—the warehouse must be sound proof—the cacophony inside was overwhelming. The source of the noise came from a section of the warehouse Kyra couldn’t yet see. Blood curdling screams coupled with more generalized yells and what sounded like cheering filled the air. The strange combination of noises opened up a pit in her gut. One that felt both empty and heavy.

  Dorner shoved Kyra forward and she stumbled into the other Mirelings who’d been let in ahead of her. They huddled inside the doorway, eyes running over their surroundings. Fear and hesitation filled their faces. Half a dozen men appeared as if from nowhere and surrounded them. The all wore rifles on their sh
oulders, along with handguns and huge knives at their belts.

  Kyra shivered. This was not good. Her chest felt like a mesh net was constricting around her heart. She fought the sensation. An escape route always existed somewhere—she’d learned that during her time in the Mire—but you had to watch for it. Telling herself to be calm and vigilant, she kept her eyes ostensibly on the ground, so she wouldn’t stand out in the group. The other Mirelings didn’t seem to even notice the guards.

  “This way. All of you,” one of them growled. The guards first nudged and then shoved the group down one of the lanes between kennels, heading toward the back of the warehouse. Kyra stayed in the center of the group as they moved, trying to take in everything about her surroundings without drawing attention to herself. Not that there was much more to see. Rows and rows of kennels, all with people in them. The ceiling was high—twenty feet or more above the tops of the cages—and other than that, the warehouse interior utterly mundane.

  The lane they moved down intersected with another wider one running left to right. When she came abreast of the intersection, Kyra turned to the left and her stomach dropped. Her fingers went numb and her lungs refused to expand. She ran into the guy ahead of her before realizing the other Mirelings had stopped to stare in the same direction.

  On the far side of the warehouse stood a raised dais. A metal chair sat atop it. A man who looked a few years younger than Kyra sat in the chair, his forearms and ankles chained to it. He was covered in blood from shoulders to knees. It oozed from a dozen places on his arms, torso, and face. His clothes were so red-stained, she couldn’t make out where the wounds actually were. He didn’t seem to be able to control his neck. His chin rested on his chest, but he would throw his head back, his eyes rolling wildly, before his head fell forward once more, as if too heavy to support.

  A second man, brandishing the biggest knife she’d ever seen, circled the chair. As he moved around to the far side of the chair, Kyra got a better look at him. His head was shaved and tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin. A predatory glow lit his eyes and he grinned maniacally.